Risk (Notevember 2021, #31)

I knocked on his grave. Once, hoping nothing would happen. Twice, fearing he would knock back. And a third time, fearing he wouldn’t.

Months had gone by since he died. I went looking for occult knowledge, religious rites, mysteries relegated to folklore and superstition. Anything I could try with my conscience still intact, I tried. I have to wonder if, somewhere along the way, what my morality would allow had shifted. Not by far, but enough to worry me. Some of the rituals left me queasy, most of them made me doubt my own sanity. Every failure made me feel either silly for trying, or incompetent for not doing it right.

When that last sacrifice and incantation finally worked, I believed it had less to do with that particular one being special, and more to do with my mindset. I had gone from wild grief to sleepless desperation, passed through defeatism to the realm of dogged perseverance – where it just clicked. I would see him again. We would see each other.

The ground buckled. First inward, then out, rising up to meet me. So, one more chance to enter the darkness before my time.

I didn’t even hesitate the first time. That surprised me as much as it did him. What living soul would voluntarily step into the underworld without a second thought? A lonely one, as it turns out. One robbed of the love of her life before that love had a chance to truly blossom.

I wasn’t so naïve as to think I could pluck him out of death and back into my arms. There was no hope of succeeding where Orpheus had failed. Nor could I bear the thought of staying in this place beyond all places, one where I was neither welcome nor had any chance of understanding. Suicide wasn’t an option either, of course – he would never have forgiven me for cutting my life short when he was so cruelly robbed of his own.

Death is a grim land. That’s about all I can say. Every time I returned to the world above, I found the memory of my visit slipping away like a dream on waking. I remembered him, thankfully, but I suspected he had a hand in that. Certainly, I met other souls as well, but their faces, names, or what they said to me – if anything – elude me. I would love to tell you that the hereafter presented as a vast calm, or even a joyous affair; but reality isn’t a movie, and The Corpse Bride and Coco both got it wrong.

Even his love was muted. I know he didn’t feel as intensely for me as I did for him, but what we had was enough. More than enough. There are degrees of love, but they are all love. And I did feel loved every single day I got to share with him. His heart may not have beat as fiercely as mine, but I could feel how it sped up when we were together.

Now, though? No heartbeat, as expected. He was fully dead, and I think his emotions just hadn’t caught up yet. Sooner rather than later, this would turn into a wholly one-sided affair.

But it wasn’t just that. I think, in a way, he resented me for coming after him. Perhaps I was a painful reminder of what he had lost – just as he was to me. Still, the invitation was right there on his tombstone. “Knock three times. I am here. Find me.” How could I refuse him, when he would not refuse me?

As it had been the three times previous, everything turned black in an instant. It was not like fainting, that loss of control and sudden spinning of the world. This was slower, going on for what felt like a full minute.

Gravity was immensely strong at first, a hard tug and a continuous pull downwards. A few seconds went by before it started to ease up, steadily changing the motion from falling to floating, in time with the solid darkness fading into a pale grey.

I didn’t land, per se – that would imply feeling solid ground beneath my feet. But the motion stopped, and the experience, which had so far been visceral, now broadened to let my mind digest the view. He was there, as before, waiting for me.

No, not waiting. He ran up to me, looking half sad, half frightened. The hug we shared was far more brief than I would have wanted.

“You have to leave!” he whispered. If he were alive, I know his breath would have been ragged. Hoarse with worry.

“But I just got here. You let me through.”

“No, I didn’t. I wanted to, but I couldn’t do it. You can’t stay.”

“Why not?”

“Something is wrong. I don’t know how it happened, but… Look, you have to go back to life. Quickly.”

“When can I visit again?”

“You can’t. This has to be the last time.”

At first, I couldn’t fathom what he was saying. I just stared at his face. His eyes were nervously darting to and fro. As I looked around, I noticed we were entirely alone. Not a single soul surrounded us, where usually there would be myriads.

“Baby, what do you mean, ‘the last time?’”

“I mean, this is the end. Please, leave now. I’m begging you. Leave, and live.”

“I don’t understand.”

“And you won’t. I’m sorry. Now go.”

He embraced me again, hard. Then he started pushing me backwards. I could feel the upwards pull, knew what it meant.

“I love you,” he croaked. I could hear the crying in his voice, but his eyes were utterly dry.

“I love you forever, baby!” was all I managed to shout before I felt the sharp rush back into blackness.

I found myself in the cold November night once more. When the heaving sobs subsided, I whispered a goodbye, kissed my hand, and pressed it to the earth on his grave. To all the world, it looked undisturbed, and the only text on the tombstone was what you would expect – his name, birthday, and date of death.

I staggered through the graveyard, unsure of what had happened. This time, my memory of the underworld encounter was crystal clear. The stark contrast with how it usually was made me stop dead in my tracks. That’s how I noticed the words on the other grave markers. Every single one of them read, in shining white:

“Knock three times.” And added below were the words: “I DARE YOU.”